


deadlock.

by orphan_account



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Amaurotine Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV), Ambiguous Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV), F/M, Gen, It's A Lonely Road Out Here When Your Only Two Friends Are Coworkers You Hate, POV Second Person, Reincarnation, but it's second person You Are Emet-Selch, honestly i just wrote this because i'm sad. thats all this is. im sad, maybe? because i don't have a concept of timelines i'm gay, semi-au, stages of grief
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-05
Updated: 2019-12-05
Packaged: 2021-02-26 02:53:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,968
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21686332
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: It had always been that, until it wasn’t.Emet-Selch, and the feelings he was left alone with.
Relationships: Solus zos Galvus | Emet-Selch & Hythlodaeus, Solus zos Galvus | Emet-Selch/Warrior of Light
Comments: 3
Kudos: 16





	deadlock.

The first time around is the most pathetic.

The pain is still raw, still so fresh; it has been 700 years since the Sundering, and you have not been yourself since. Elidibus and Lahabrea avoid you, for your benefit or theirs you cannot tell, but regardless of their intention it is ultimately for the best. You’ve never been one to restrain your negative emotions as much as you’ve  _ tried _ .

You’ve tried. You’ve tried, you’ve tried, you’ve tried. You know what must be done. You will never, ever forget what must be done to fix this  _ wrong.  _ And yet, that’s the worst of it, that you  _ know _ ; that you faced her at the end and she had  _ denied you _ , and you must  _ fix it _ .

You still can’t wrap your mind around it. It has been 700 long years and it still brings out the worst in you, thinking about it, about  _ her.  _ It’s not the first time she’s frustrated you with her utterly unpredictable actions, of course it isn’t, but the times before had never  _ mattered.  _ The times before had been about Concepts, and Creation, and exhausting the members of the Hall of Rhetoric as Hythlodaeus laughed at you both, as he always had when the two of you would clash. It had been heated debate, and sometimes a fight (both of you were always too stubborn for your own good), but at the end of the day she would  _ smile  _ at you… And you’d concede to her whims (always, always, you’d concede to her flights of fancy; how could you ever deny her anything when she was your world?) and that would be that.

It had always been that, until it wasn’t.

It had always been that, until Fourteen was made lesser.

It had always been that, until She sundered the world you’d strived so hard to protect.

It had always been that, until she was gone.

The first time you see the colour of her soul again, you do something stupid. So incredibly base and stupid and  _ laughable _ it will haunt you until the end of time, and yet in the moment, none of that matters. 

(It is the first time; how are you to know the consequences, when it is the  _ first? _ )

The body is different, but the soul is the same, and shouldn’t that be what matters? That the flicker of her light is still alive? That you have  _ found  _ her, after so long, what feels like an eternity, you can see her soul once again? That it was not lost, splintered though it may be, she is still  _ there _ , and you will have a chance to put her back  _ together  _ once again!

You step from the darkness, you reach out, and there is a fond smile on your face you cannot stop, because you have  _ found _ her; her hue in your vision again makes forgiving her feel like nothing, how could you not forgive her, just as you always had, and always will—

It is the first time, so you do something stupid. 

You call her name.

And she— This fragment looks at you as though you are nothing but a stranger.

As though you are nothing to her.

And that is when it truly hits you, a shock to your entire body that makes your blood run cold in your veins. You’ve known. You’ve known since it happened, known since the world was split, no one knows better than  _ you  _ what had been lost. You were there to see it, after all, you were there when the very fabric of reality broke apart for the  _ second time _ — And yet, some part of you had  _ hoped. _ Had hoped, prayed, had begged to your God to have at least let her have been  _ spared.  _ That no matter how long you had to wait, she would know you again, smile at you again, and all it would take was to find her once more.

You look at this container, who regards you without a hint of familiarity, and you realise how deeply in denial you have been.

It is with numbness you watch this fragment fall. The tempest screams where you cannot. 

You are almost grateful.

* * *

The second time is the ugliest.

With your hope torn from you, it is as though you are possessed. It is as though the essence of Hades is no longer a man, an architect, a master of rhetoric and debate— No, there is no  _ point  _ in keeping ahold of such things, because who is there to share them with? You do not  _ need  _ an orator for your plans, no! They need your rage, your determination, your wit, your cunning! There is no room for pretty words and delicate craftsmanship now; there will be time aplenty once the natural order is  _ corrected. _

And so you rage. You rage, and in your rage you sow the seeds of Chaos. You push and pull the strings of these pathetic half-lives; watch with glee as the storm gathers, ready to strike, and the people, these  _ pathetic excuses for living _ , turn on each other. Of course they would, because they are  _ imperfect _ . They are nothing compared to the home you once knew, the people you once loved.

You want to show her this, take her by the shoulders and proclaim that she was a  _ fool  _ to give her soul for these things! Show her this destruction and decay and tell her that she can still come back, can make things right. Still in the grips of bitterness and desperation, you would forgive her if she could see now how little these lives (if they could even be called that) are worth. If she would look at you, and choose you instead, you would be gracious enough to look past her foolish, misplaced whims. 

The storm grows, and again you see her hue.

This fragment is leading them. This fragment rallies them, gives them hope, takes them gently by the hands and promises that there is something  _ better  _ for them. 

This fragment doesn’t look a thing like her either, but you look at it and see nothing but  _ her  _ and the anger grips you like a vice, that  _ again she’s chosen them,  _ and you cannot forgive, you cannot  _ forgive _ — _! _

This fragment does not know you (and how could it, fractured, worthless as it is!) but it does not stop you from appearing before it in a frenzy; a stranger it, you grab its shoulders and all the poisonous words you’ve kept bottled up for so long,  _ so long, so long without her  _ come out as a tempest, a storm of  _ anger  _ and  _ hate  _ and  _ vitriol  _ and  _ questions-- _

_ Why would you choose these imitation lives over those we have lost? Why would you not take back what was ours? Why would you abandon the happiness we knew? Why would you destroy yourself to protect what was  _ lesser?  _ Why do you still insist on  _ their _ lives, even now? Why would you not save yourself? Why would you not-- _

_ Why would you not stand by my side? _

_ Why would you not allow me to save you? _

The shimmer of her soul is so faint when this fragment pushes you away it may as well not exist, and the thought  _ terrifies  _ you. 

That should these shattered worlds continue to exist, one day her hue will blend into nothingness, her colour spent protecting the worthless.

It is that thought that stays in your mind when the storm claim this reflection, levin falling from the sky like rain. You watch these imitations flee and cry and scream, and for a moment you hesitate— for a moment you think of her, at her end. You think of the tempest howling in her eyes, in her soul, in everything of her that she sacrificed to protect these half-lives.

You think of the fragment of her that tried to save this land, just as she might.

But it is only for a moment.

For if it is not them sacrificed, then it is  _ her _ .

* * *

You do not see the third fragment before its home reflection is destroyed, because you have been sleeping for such a long time.

You wonder if this is perhaps a blessing.

* * *

The Allagan Empire crumbles, and you feel little more than boredom. 

It’s like watching a sandcastle wash away, really. You are, at most, a little annoyed at watching a creation fade, but that is the strongest you feel. The land crumbles, swallows the Tower they built, but the devastation means nothing to you.

You almost wish you did. To feel something,  _ anything _ , but this numbness in your soul that has persisted for so long. But it has been too long since the Sundering, and all your hope and rage and tears have run dry. You watch the people die as a child might watch ants, and you feel nothing for it.

You do not see her hue, this time. But there is another that you know.

You think, at first, it’s simply your imagination. After all, you haven’t seen Hythlodaeus’ hue once in all this time; you’d long given up any hope of knowing what had become of your friend. With  _ her  _ you know, without a shadow of a doubt, that her soul is reborn time and time again, and now the thought of it only invites an ache in your heart that is worse than the numbness. But Hythlodaeus? This is a first.

It is a first, but you still know how it will play out. You do not have the will to appear before his fragment and scream at a stranger as you did to hers so many years ago. You know better now than to chase after broken pieces; in time, perhaps, when they are complete enough to look at you and remember, however long it takes.

However long it takes feels like an eternity away. So you take a closer look. Just this once.

His fragment is one of these strange, distasteful  _ animal  _ races. You don’t recall the name for it on the Source, because frankly you don’t care to recall something that will cease to exist when your work is done. It’s almost comical to see this tiny woman beside him, echoing an Amaurotine shape on a much smaller scale, conversing with a man with a furry tail. You’d laugh if you had any humour left; you’d tuck this away as a story to tell Hythlodaeus when next you meet if you had any will left.

This woman, a princess with a soul whose hue you don’t recognise (is she new colour, or simply a stranger?), entrusts the future to the fragment with her blood. She weeps for her lost kin, for her people, and clutches his hands as she makes him swear that he will see her dream come true.

And this  _ imitation  _ of your friend promises her. He promises her, no matter how long it takes, their wishes will come true in time; that one day the children of the future will be able to fix the mistakes of the past, and begin anew with their technology and knowledge. He swears to her that one day, the Tower will become  _ hope _ .

You look away.

* * *

You try, once, to be part of their lives. You are haunted by  _ her _ and her choice; the memory of a Hythlodaeus now long-dead, who saw something you could not in these foolish, feeble lives; who looked at them, and thought them capable of the love Amaurot was capable of.

So you try. Just once. You raise an empire for a second time, and live out a pathetically short life in a body that is not your own, take a wife who looks nothing like her, and hold a son who dies too soon.

And again, you are disappointed.

**Author's Note:**

> hello. im exclusively attracted to rats now. also can you tell where i got tired of writing and just wanted to post the damn thing
> 
> i dont understand the xiv timeline and nor will i ever so if this isnt canon compliant just pretend like that was intentional. all i am is a miserable women who didn't intend to catch feelings for this son of a fuck yet here we are
> 
> was also considering doing separate chapters for different WoL pronouns but i didn't want 2 be too presumptuous with my first fic for this fanbase but uh. if that's something people'd like i might do that. emetsadposting is for all pronouns, i just default to she/her because i love women
> 
> in more being-a-shill things, i have a xiv twitter @dragonfirediver that i made because i have exactly 2 friends who play xiv, and i'd like to make friends, so uh. jazz hands. come cry with me if you liked this?


End file.
